


Ink and Letters

by whyamidoingthisitswrongbutiloveit



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (at least an attempt at A/B/O-Dyn), Alpha Castiel, Alpha Castiel/Omega Dean Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Regency, Attempt at humour, Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love, Death from Old Age, Freeform, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Omega Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-29 00:04:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8468161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whyamidoingthisitswrongbutiloveit/pseuds/whyamidoingthisitswrongbutiloveit
Summary: In ancient times, spouses mourning would dye their clothing with black ink and remain unapproachable until their clothing had been washed white by constant wear, a romantic friend informs Castiel.Castiel Milton is determined to pledge himself to another in marriage for love only. Unfortunately, his intended wears mourning clothes.Dean Winchester is determined to enter matrimony only for love, not money or fame. Unfortunately, his intended wears a constant frown whenever Dean is near.Hope blooms when Dean receives a letter from a secret admirer.





	1. Spring till Summer, 1812

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cerdic519](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/gifts), [thatwriterlady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatwriterlady/gifts), [msarahv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msarahv/gifts), [chucks_prophet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/gifts), [arinwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arinwrites/gifts), [Dangerousnotbroken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangerousnotbroken/gifts).



> please note the **Old-Age-Tag** and what it informs you of. nothing horrible, except for my writing.
> 
> un-beta-ed and written during nights I cannot sleeep. please excuse typos and errors. please also excuse the poor attempt of transcripting a drunk girl from Orkney I met a couple of years ago (you'll know what I mean when you read it). 
> 
> if those gifted with this blob of words wish to be untagged, please tell me, I'll do so immediately.
> 
> this is NOT taking place during the "true" Regency-era (or later, Victorian age), and neither does it play in 19th-century England. It's a *waves a magic stick* Alternate Universe.  
> I shamelessly borrowed some of my favourite tropes, imagined Dean in a frock and a dashing Castiel in riding clothes (there was a crop, too. squeak) and then somehow this came to be. if I was a better writer, I'd have added Steampunk elements, too, but alas - I am too tired of life to really elaborate or go into detail of clothing, houses etc. Frankly, I was fed up that I hadn't written in months and decided it is time to push myself again.
> 
> Alright. Let's go. kudos and especially comments are appreciated.

“Quite the looker, I dare say,” Zecharia Ashton nods towards the newcomers. Castiel hums a noncommittal sound, barely keeping himself from rolling his eyes. Anna would have his hide, again, if he did.

“Ah,” a sly grin bloomes across Mr. Ashton’s face, “I see he has caught your... attentions, Mr. Milton.” For a short moment Castiel imagines the joy of seeing Zechariah's mouth split and coloured blood red. He had been trained continuously from his earliest years of life to remain calm and collected, certainly it would not do for an Alpha of his status to lose temper easily, but the hateful man next to him makes it very, oh, so very hard.

“Well bred, from his looks, aye,” Uriel Chowang-Hweyji adds cooly. “Likely to breed well, too, if one can manage to ignore the way he speaks,” to which Ashton simply nods in agreement.

“Although, even if not -  I do always pay utmost attention to what my dear father taught me,” Uriel sips his drink, tossing the now emptied cup towards the Omega server who just barely catches the cup. “If they’re not bred properly, they are _trained_ properly until they know who is their Master and thus learn the joy of obedience.”

“Hear, hear,” a few murmurs can be heard. Uriel is an obnoxious knothead, and Zecharia a hateful Beta, but put in a room together they could stink it up with Alpha-stupidity and Beta-Jealousy within seconds. Castiel has a couple of times thought it too bad that a Beta and an Alpha could not mate. He’d arrange for Zecharia in an instant and gift him to Uriel. They do make for _quite_ a match. They might even end each other by the first week of their honeymoon, and how well would that turn out for everyone else?

All the while Castiel was musing about the otherwise despised custom of buying a mate, his eyes have been following the new addition to the social circle. The Winchesters, having crossed the wide sea the summer before, had finally settled down in Newtown. Though their status in regard to family might be considered too simple for some, their wealth had been incentive enough for a family old but yet poor enough to invite them, hoping to secure their daughter (and son) to the elder Winchester offspring. After charming most everyone, invitations to almost every outing had been continuously sent out, be it to theatres, dances, singing or even a ball.

The younger brother, an Alpha shy of the age of seventeen, is a promising young man, Castiel thinks. He had witnessed the brothers interact, and Samuel Winchester is polite even to servers, kitchen maids and other footfolk. Castiel is uncertain, but the long hair Samuel Winchester sports is rather unique, especially with the height the young man carries. Well, he would not swear it in court, but he would be fiercely be protective of his certainty - Castiel is rather sure he watched Samuel run towards a maid, struggling under the cruel demand of some aristocrat arses to bring all of their luggage at once, and helping her. He even made her smile, blush, and bowed to her when taking his leave. Castiel took it upon himself to check upon the maid later - she had a dreamy state of mind, and had not smelt of distress. So Samuel Winchester, by all means, had not asked for payment in any form - a decidedly rare trait in Alphas in general, but all the more in Alphas this young and running on hormones. Castiel liked Samuel.

The older brother, he remains an enigma to Castiel. Dean Winchester is not subdued, but quiet. He loves to read but continues to hide it; there was one time Castiel caught him in the library reverently running his fingers across the patron’s most favoured books (visible by how well worn they were). And then. Then Dean's entire face had lit up, the golden flicker of the fireplace and candles bathing Dean Winchester in sunlight in the dark, because he had found a book he obviously adored.

Castiel had bitten his tongue, not daring to breathe in lest he made a sound, not daring to breathe out lest he whimpered at the sight.

The sight of Dean Winchester smiling like that could have no other effect on hot-blooded Alphas. Which induced a pang in Castiel's chest, something possessive spreading through his thoughts, not wanting to share, but wanting to - well, not quite wanting wanting - yes, indeed, needing to... Castiel was lost for words, but he knew that whatever had felt lost or empty inside his chest until this day was a void that the man reverently turning the pages of what appeared to be a children's book would be able to fill with his presence alone.

Castiel wanted to have, to love and adore and possess and mark. Yet he could not. Could never. Dean wore a black armband, and black clothing, too.. The one worn by mourning children, parents or lovers. He remains unapproachable. Etiquette would not allow to ask, but whispers of a lost father and mother being one reason the brothers left The Colony could be heard whispered behind upheld hands that did little to keep the voice down. But Dean also wore blackened clothing that only with constant wear would lose its black colour by washing it. Castiel has heard this had been the way of women in ancient times in Mesopotamia, or perhaps another long lost empire, he did not know for certain. But, as Miss Dounaghan had informed him whilst batting her eyelashes, the story goes like so: the mourner would dye their clothes black with ink. For however long the clothing remained blackened, so long the living would mourn the deceased spouse or family member. So, Dean Winchester was mourning, and likely for a lover.

At a particularly vivid outing in early April, a rather rude and terrifyingly drunk Beta (surprisingly, not Zecharia as neither he or Uriel had been invited for weeks to their outings) approached Dean and made a joke of pulling at his armband and, in drunkardly fashion otherwise only a knot-headed Alpha would allow themselves, demanded to be entertained, to allow the group of attendees to take a look at Dean's throat and markings - he even went as far as to start pulling at the finely woven black cravat Dean wore.

Castiel needed exactly three steps to cross the room. But he was too late. Dean Winchester is hardly what some would call (or expect of Omegas): demure. The offending Beta was hit with precision, square in the jaw, once to the chest, and sent flying at least four feet onto the floor. For a long few seconds, the only sound was the crackling fire and the clock ticking.

Dean Winchester glanced at Castiel's extended hand, and appeared as if to be torn between two very intense feelings. He turned away abruptly, stepped next to the Beta and bent down - accompanied by a collective sharp intake of breath, as the offending man was in attempt of sitting up - and pressed two extended fingers against his throat. The implication was clear: the next time, it would be fangs.

“Touch me again, Beta, and I will end you. Now,” Dean continuously pressed his fingers against the hollow point, “Get. Out.” he growled. The Beta left quickly, red faced and his shame stinking up the room.

Omegas might not be as aggressive as Alphas or even Betas, and might prefer harmony to disrupture of peace, but they are known to be fierce fighters when defending pups. This fierceness, Castiel noted with pride, also extended to Dean's own safety.

Dean did not acknowledge anyone else, instead, he sat down next to Miss Charlie Bradbury to continue playing cards. Castiel smiled into his cup when he saw her fist-bump Dean under the table.

Castiel decided he liked the modern approach the Winchesters brought to his life.

Now, all he had to do is to smother his affections and offer his true-felt friendship to the Winchesters.

Easier said than done.

* * *

Against all odds and expectations after the evening at Miss Dounaghan’s, the brothers continued to be invited to plays, card games, and the occasional dancing taking all over the nearer countryside and the city. Today, at the end of April, they’re at Miss Dounaghan’s again (enjoying the absence of a certain Beta, of course), and Dean has taken the youngest of their party for a walk through the shrubbery. They are well-behaved children, and with a gentle hint as to not trample into the flower-beds and keep within seeing distance of Dean _and_ the promise to not run too quickly to avoid falls (and questions asked induced by dirtied clothing), the kids were set free. A fair-haired maid is walking briskly towards the tree Dean has leant on. He gets up, dusts off and bows. The first rule of a good household, his mother has taught him, is to have and show respect towards servants and maids. Their work is what makes a house a home worth living in, but even more so, them feeling at home makes them keen on keeping it safe and enjoyable for all.

“Master Winchester,” the maid whisperes, although no one else is within earshot, “Master Winchester! There’s been a letter for you. I’ve been told to give it to you, and your hand only, but beg pardon, not to tell who ‘has givn’t me. In fact, the servant wore a cloak so even if ye would yell at me, I couldn’t say who t’was. Ah! Not that you’d do so, Sir, am not gonn’ say you’d do, Sir, but ain’t a secret let’r somethin’ big on it’s own?” Miss Rebeccah gasps with cheeks flushed rosy from pride arising in being tasked with a secret mission.

Dean smiles. “Sure wouldn’t do, Miss Rebeccah.”

“I knew it,” she squeaks, “but to tell ye the truth, ‘tis most exciting! Imagine that, a secret let’r fer ye, Sir!”

“Yes, Miss Rebeccah.” Dean can feel his tell-tale smirk tug at his cheeks, and he lowers his voice to a conspiratory whisper, even going so far and half-covering his mouth with his hand. “Would you be so kind to hand it over, so I may read it’s secret content?”  
“Ah, yes, Master! Of course!” Rebecca pulls a small envelope from a fold of her skirts and hands it over. “D’yo care for a wine? Some tea, perhaps?”

“No, thank you, I am all set,” Dean replies. After a few seconds pass, he genuinely smiles again. “I would like to read the letter now, Miss Rebeccah.” She nods eagerly. “‘m sure, Sir!”

“Alone, preferably.”

“Oh, goodness, yes, where’s me head at? You go ahead, Master Winchester! Shall I keep watch?”

“No, thank you Miss Rebeccah, my secret letter and me, well, we are quite safe here.”

She curtsies and turns around, satisfied with having fulfilled a task (and, perhaps, readying some friendly gossip.)

Dean settles back against the tree, and looks at the thick paper, artfully coloured at the outer side. It smells of Lavender, masking any lingering scent, even that of Miss Rebbecah. He carefully cracks open the unstamped wax. _Mysterious_ indeed.

Skilled calligraphy in green ink greets him.

 

> _To the Honourable Mister Dean Winchester,_
> 
> _Your magnificence awes me, humbles me and hereby I lay my heart at your feet. My endeavour to use ink in the colour of your eyes has, as must be, failed, as no thing could be compared to the beatific light your eyes give to humanity._
> 
> _Just as like Earth orbits around the Sun and could never stop doing so, I cannot stop thinking about you and how your existence pulls me ever closer, yet I am never able to reach for you. Yet, what if Earth could but reach to the sky? If you would but allow me one evening to bask in the light of your presence, nearer than others, just a dance, I believe I shall be the happiest man alive. I hope that one day I shall be rewarded with a friendly smile when next we meet._
> 
> _Ever your most affectionate friend_
> 
> _Mr.-_

 

A secret - admirer? The unknown man might not be a poet but what this letter might supposedly lack in poetic descript, it made up for the obviously heartfelt admiration written therein and, such as, was much more preferred to what he has read before (against all odds, Dean has received some letters of admiration before, and some had been downright dripping with... saucy descriptions).

Oh, dear. Who could it be? Dean did _not_ hope for the affections of a certain Alpha, he did _not_.

_Shut up._

* * *

Albeit his family never put pressure on him - his father even going so far as calling these expectations a load of bull crap - Dean has learnt from an early age that, being an Omega, things are _Expected_. This, of course, without care if these expectations would be hurtful or not to an Omega, or an Omega's feelings; as Omega nature was to be civil, obedient, to endure and relish in the attentions of whichever Alpha or Beta thought a mere Omega worthy of aforementioned affections (John and Mary Winchester huffed and made their disagreement known each time someone thought it necessary to remind Dean).

However, even after a while, social norms do form a mind and make for bad company for a brilliant mind riddled with low self-esteem. Especially if said Omega was of freakish height and muscular built, at least for their sub-gender. It had not been heartbreaking, not really, but traumatising to a sixteen year old Dean.

Mister Milton must have noted, too, the freakish nature of Dean. Which would explain his polite disinterest whenever Dean was near. He does speak but a few words to Dean, but never comes too close, and after _that_ evening in April, Dean is certain that Mister Milton does his utmost to breath as little as possible when he is next to Dean.

Which implies a most hurtful truth, for Dean is pulled towards the calm and polite Alpha - the sad truth that said Alpha is disgusted with Dean's behaviour and scent. Which, frankly said, sucks lemons. Still, even if Mister Milton is disgusted by Dean (obvious by how he always, always keeps quite a distance), he continues being polite to the Omega. Which makes it all the more painful. What built of character does it speak for, when an Alpha would go fetch refreshments in summer and not send a servant? (Unbeknownst to Dean, hilariously delightful to Miss Anna Milton and quite embarrassing to Castiel, the Alpha had stuttered his excuse for not bringing refreshments for the _entire_ party when another Omega had greedily grappled for the lemonade he had intended to offer to Dean. Said red-faced Alpha had also run back to the kitchens to fetch drinks for the entire party and tripped, twice. Dean had been helping along the young mistress to waddle back her tiny five month old feet to her mother, their host, thus did not know of this.)

Mister Milton must have also been quite affronted at the spectacle Dean had made of himself when that offending Beta had demanded to show the party his throat. An Omega standing up to a Beta was rarely heard of, but an Omega defying a Beta in such way as to expulse them from a party and expose them to ridicule is very likely unheard of. The Alpha had crossed the room so quickly, pupils dilated and his had had been extended towards Dean to - Dean did not know. He had hoped maybe the handsome Alpha would show a small care towards him, had maybe a teeny tinsy itty-little-bitty bit wanted to protect. Not of a meek and whiny disposition, Dean had not wanted Mister Milton to save him as was described in the romance novels he most definitely did not read, thank you very much. (Shut up.)

But he _would_ have liked Mister Milton to, maybe, just a little bit, you know... growl at the Beta. Just a little bit. It would have implied fare more than what would have had been true, of course (that is, Mister Milton laying _claim_ to the protection of a certain Omega) at that point of time, but it would have been... Nice. All right, it would have been _great_.

As it stands, Mister Milton likely had attempted to diffuse the situation by reprimanding the unbecoming behaviour of an Omega.

And yet, the _look_ on Mister Milton's face. Dean saw the revulsion displayed plainly (and was erroneously convinced the disgust was directed at him) on the handsome Alpha's face. It hurt him physically. So he folded up the hurt into a ball of fury and directed it at the offending Beta, then sat down back again to Miss Bradbury. She promised him that no one had seen his hands shake. Dean made sure to keep his shoulders squared and his head held high, though he wanted nothing more than to curl up and sob at the thought of Mister Milton, now certainly, loathing him. Instead he indulged in Miss Bradbury's friendly request to fist-bump under the table.

The positive outcome was that after this (likely highly discussed) incident, not a single knothead Alpha or rude Beta tried to approach Dean, which had been a nice change of scenery. Dean knew he should be happy.

But it also meant that Mister Milton kept frowning whenever Dean was near, kept his nose as far away from Dean as was possible, and in general kept his low opinion of Dean unspoken but it could be felt.

Needless to say, Dean has been hurting since then.


	2. Summer till early Winter, 1812

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel kept an eye on any Alpha leaving the room, intent on detecting a squared jaw, the tell-tale set of shoulders of a hunter edging in on their prey, but not a single guest seemed to have noticed the change in Dean.

Meeting Dean Winchester had been a terrifying experience. From the moment Castiel had been privileged to whiff the Omega’s scent, he had been enchanted. "Yer also rather well and truly fucked", as his gardener had happily slurred after her fourth pint on the next evening. "Castiel, go talk t' him. We _all_ know you," was followed by a friendly and heavily uncoordinated pat to the shoulder, then neck, then face (twice)." Hick. "Have you at least _tried_ to shpeak more than two sentences with him?" 

Castiel had not dared. He only just about kept himself from leaping after the Omega - it would only be seen as brutish and primitive in both Castiel’s book and modern society. Only a few decades ago, the status of Omegas was similar to an old horse, or a plough, if not less. Times had changed, thankfully. Castiel prides himself on his family having been one of the first, all those years ago, to participate in the bloody revolution, siding with the then small fraction of Emancipationists. (Alas, not all Alphas and Betas - and following their lead, Omegas - have adapted to the opinion of equality. At least the Emancipationists continue to grow in number, so there is hope that in a few years, maybe two generations, social norms will have become truly civilised and modern for all.)

Chowang-Hweyji and Ashton had quickly learnt that Castiel would not engage in their snide commentary about the Omega, and had left him alone during their outings for months now. They had also learnt that neither Dean or Samuel Winchester were keen to hear any of their comments, either the ones presented as what ought to be understood as polite in such society, but especially the ones obviously hiding daggers and rudeness.

In fact, the Winchester brothers were so well liked that the aforementioned gentlemen received by far less invitations than in the previous years. Apparently, anyone sane preferred the happy company of the brothers. Castiel was indeed very glad and - again, another failure on his behalf - prides himself on Dean’s virility and happy manners as if he had been the one to assist in their evolvement.

 

On that first evening, Dean's scent intensified in such a way that Castiel feared it would cause an uproar amonst the Alphas. The sudden burst of sweetness in the air could only mean that, ahem, the Omega needed a bath. Dean fled the room. Castiel kept an eye on any Alpha leaving the room, intent on detecting a squared jaw, the tell-tale set of shoulders of a hunter edging in on their prey, but not a single guest seemed to have noticed the change in Dean. The only one who followed had been Dean' brother. Castiel knows that siblings, even cousins, smell of home to each other but any scent of arousal was unpleasant between family members, irrelevant of their secondary orientation. Steadying his breath, Castiel hopes to steady his frantically beating heart, too, but he only manages to inhale the last wisps of Dean Winchester. _Home, Want, Need, Mate._ He manages to turn his whimper in a badly concealed sneeze. 

Something primal in him opens up, scratching with claws against the confines of modern, civilised society. He has to remind himself every time he thinks of Dean Winchester, let alone sees him - or catches a whiff of his scent whenever the wind would have sadistic mercy and ruffle the otherwise meticulously placed cravat. Castiel can only imagine what the smell would be if he ever pressed his nose into the soft skin there.

He imagines it often enough. Damned to hell, the gardener has been right.

Seven months later, Castiel finds himself in Purgatory, or Hell. He can not decide, but by logic, it is either of them, or both, or something even more painful to suffer through. He is love struck, nay, _in_ love, his Desired unapproachable and the outings allow too many others to engage the Winchesters in games and talk. He is certain, if he but knew he has Dean's affections, he would not mind him mingling with others (too much, to be honest, but then again, an Omega would not bear to be away from their mate too long, either).

However, Dean's affections are decidedly not with Castiel, and he desires, pines and continuously needs to step out into the fresh air to keep unfounded jealousy at bay. Too bad, gentle reader, that Dean thinks Castiel finds the attentions Dean receives distasteful or does not care for them at all, is it not?

Miss Bradbury rolls her eyes regularly. Castiel Milton is an adorable Alpha, and Dean one of her clostest friends. They would make the cutest babies and if they had babies, Charlie could spoil them so much. It would be so much fun! In her mind, she already sees little pups nesting together, all around her and crawling over her. However, her plans to engage the two men into conversation to allow the miscommunication - which had taken place for whichever reason, she cannot make out - to be settled, fail spectacularly on a regular basis. Which is, you know. _Frustrating_.

Internally, she groans. Castiel flees the confines of the card room into the garden _again_ when an admittedly kind and charming (and, Charlie begrudgingly admits, handsome) Captain makes Dean laugh. Dean does follow him with his eyes, but is quickly engaged by the youngest of their party jumping onto his lap and demanding to be carried between Dean and the Captain. The Captain offers Dean his arm to assist him standing up with pup on his arm - and Dean accepts, placing his hand on the Captains shoulder.

On the other side of the window on the room's side facing the garden, a certain blue-eyed Alpha gaspes for air. Dean holding a pup is perfection, but seeing him take the Captain's hand is torture. (His position only allows the view of Dean accepting, not where he places his hand.)

The colloquial term would be, in short: Castiel had the hots for Dean really bad.

Befriending someone Castiel wants to mark up with his teeth, smell, and pups, not to mention the intensive need to bury his nose in that spot of delicate skin and fall asleep while peppering kisses and playfully nipping all over their their freckled skin is really, really, _really_ \- hard. In the most painful way during mornings, too. His failure to smother the affection that arose from Dean's smile alone did not help to reduce the possessiveness Castiel feels when that smile is directed to another Alpha or Beta. It certainly is never inviting, but it is there - and it is always more than Dean gives Castiel. Dean barely glances at Castiel, and hardly does keep their eyes locked.

Castiel knows he stares at the Omega, but would not put a rest to it lest it was dangerous to Dean, and only then.

He wakes up most nights (and mornings, especially) with a very, pardon, hard remembrance of imagined kisses he misses without ever knowing them.

He barely keeps himself from posturing each and any time a Beta or another Alpha approaches Dean, which has turned into a terrible feat - it was winter and most outings are now held inside of ballrooms. Which means dancing. Dancing means _touching_. During the sunnier days they go ice skating. Dean holds hands with Miss Bradbury, her giggles and laughter ringing like bells. Castiel knows that at least for marital affection, Miss Bradbury is not interested in Dean but they would be a good match nonetheless. And it does occasionaly happen that orientation is ignored at least for breeding, to ensure a family’s financial continuity and status.

Samuel Winchester has caught the attention of one lovely lady from the northwest, a Miss Eileen Leahy, and has become her constant companion. Castiel thinks them disgustingly adorable, it is rather obvious that Samuel is smitten and Miss Leahy ardently enthusiastic about deepening their bond as well. (If only he knew that Miss Bradbury describes Dean and himself in the same manner, he'd be mortified.)

As happy as he is for Miss Leahy and Sam ("Sam, please, we're friends are we not?"), he does admit to himself that he is also jealous of their open display of affection. He constantly has to remind himself to not look at Dean like Samuel looks at Miss Leahy, which has the - unbeknownst to him - unhappy result of schooling his face into a neutral look accompanied by a perpetual frown whenever he looks at Dean.

Which, in turn, gentle reader, is the very reason for the aforementioned misunderstanding causing our dear Miss Bradbury to repeatedly be reminded that her 'eyes might get stuck rolled up like that'.

“Oh, Gods help me,” Dean thinks, for the umpteenth time. Mr. Milton is frowning again. He does every time he so much as looks at Dean, it seems. Dean was not privy to any knowledge of having offended the gentleman. Indeed, the Alpha does tense up in Dean's vicinity but he would always open the door for Dean (and _other_ Omegas, his mind provides, quickly smothering any hope), he would always stand up when Dean ( _or_ other Omegas) entered a room, he would always keep a distance from Dean ( _and_ other Omegas, at least).

When he first saw the delectable Mr. Castiel Milton, Dean had to excuse himself quickly to a private room. His brother, bless his heart, brought him a bowl with warmed water and soft threaded, finely woven fresh underdrawers. Dean had been mortified. He has never had such a reaction to anyone before. His reaction had consisted of _Home, Want, Need. Mate_.

Dean's reaction, unfortunately, was not mirrored by the Alpha as he had not followed Dean, had not barged through the door, barrelled into bed to lie down beside Dean and so Dean, in his very first fit of true attraction, had within a short few minutes after falling for someone learnt the coldness of (imagined, gentle reader, imagined) rejection.

Until his dying day Dean Winchester will disallow any untrue statement about sniffing, red-rimmed eyes and a continuous flow of single non-existent mantears Nope. Never happened.

 

 

> _Dear Dean,  
>  _
> 
> _If you have taken kindness to a coward’s confessions and read my letters, as I am certain your kind nature would encourage you to have done, you must surely have noticed that we share, at least in some part, common friends. I wish I had the courage to slip you these letters in person, or at least on the same evening we meet without your knowledge - and yet, perhaps without your consent. With this letter I have bid our courier to repeat what I have written in this letter. I beg your forgiveness in advance for my brass demand, and hope you will allow this folly for a fool in love._
> 
> _If my commissions are offensive to you, please relieve me of my suffering hope and wear a white brooch over your heart during the next couple of outings. Even I am not present, it certainly will be noted and I shall hear it. From thereon I shall relieve you of your unwelcome burden and by doing so, close my affections towards you as well as I can. Yet, my poor heart asks, what if you do not read these letters, would I understand you wish me to continue? The Gods may forgive my folly then, but you would not if I approached you with hope. If you are, however, not affronted by a my affections, will you allow me to beg another kindness, for you to pin a blue brooch over your heart. Should you choose to wear white, I thank you for indulging with my selfishness for months until now, and salute your kindness to let me know._
> 
> _But, if you should choose to wear blue, I shall find courage soon to approach you in person._
> 
> _Your ardent worshipper_

 

A few letters as such have been sent to Dean, and apparently Miss Rebeccah has chosen it for herself (1) to be the one bearing the burden of bringing them safely and unread to Mister Winchester (perhaps, in friendly hope, to be invited on her opinion. Unfortunately, Mister Winchester had yet to indulge in this unsaid offer) and (2) to keep watch to anyone and anything approaching Mister Winchester whilst reading those letters (which led to some hilarious, but still for weeks spoken of chasings of gardeners, swans, ducks and a later very cross chicken across the gardens of their - mind you! - host).

Charlie began reprimanding Rebbecah, by then close to crying. Dean stepped in and Charlie had a field day when he explained why Rebbecah behaved like so. He would never admit it out loud, but squeaking on her _and_ his part was involved. At least in regard to his mysterious admirer. 

 

Needless to say, Dean wears a blue brooch for weeks. Questions are asked, yes, but they are easily replied to, yet no one has a twinkle in their eye as to confess their knowledge of the deeper meaning of wearing the only splat of colour.

 

* * *

 

Castiel's breathing slowly returns to its normal pace a few minutes (half-ish hour, so what) after he has seen the blue brooch. Dean Winchester, kindness in person, accepts his letters and affections. Oh! But how to deal further? In providing written proof of affection, Castiel is painfully aware that anyone complimenting Dean in the right way might, just with their luck, understand that it is supposed to be code and to use it to their advantage.

Castiel's worst fear comes to life in the form a Mister Alistair Heyerdahl, a quiet Alpha who until now has preferred to remain in the background of their party, but always has been present with a dangerous air about him. His instinct is to keep Dean (he has long since dropped any pretense of calling him _Mr. Winchester_ ) away from the Alpha who does his best to keep his scent hidden completely, almost erasing his presence in doing so.

 

To Dean, Alphas have a strong scent, but not entirely unpleasant (only some smelt of rotten meat), and the calmness displayed from Mister Heyerdahl (he refuses to be on first name basis, yet), is not unwelcome. After noting the blue brooch and noting Dean's blush; Mister Heyerdahl coyly drops that brooches supposedly once were used to transport secret messages.

Is it him? Dean is uncertain. The smoothly written, and devout, letters he has so far received stand in stark contrast to the all-too strong Alpha words used by Mister Heyerdahl. Yet, the letters speak of a kind disposition hidden by shyness. It _could_ be possible, he supposes. He could be happy with Mister Heyerdahl, if his letters are true, he is a kind man.

Dean devises a plan. He will ask Miss Rebeccah to tell the courier to wait for a reply when the next letter arrives. He will find out who his secret admirer is.

 

 

> _Dear,  
>  _
> 
> _For months now you have kept hidden yourself from me, yet your words have captured me. Your kindness speaks for yourself, and without knowing you, I feel as if we have been close too many times to not note the absence of your presence next to me. How am I to know you? You know me, yet I lack the knowledge of your name, your smile, the warmth of your hand during a dance. I shall not hope to receive a reply, but if, oh, if you are inclined to dance, wear a green brooch. As exciting it is to receive letters as such, I wish to know you, for your words alone make me feel content, yet my heart desires._
> 
> _In hope of meeting with you soon,_
> 
> _Dean Winchester_

 

Pressing the letter to his frantically beating heart, Castiel gasps. This is the first reply he has received. How shall he proceed?

Unfortunately, the next dances are held quite close to the date of the letter, and Mister Heyerdahl has chosen a green brooch to compliment Dean’s eyes. (Castiel may or may not have cursed.)

However, words of recognition remain unspoken, and Dean is mostly content. He had wished for another blue eyed Alpha to be the writer of those beautiful yet bumpy letters, but he is certain that given the time, Mister Heyerdahl will show his full potential. The least he can do is encourage the Alpha to show his true colours by ignoring the _wantwantwant_ he feels towards the very disinterested Mister Milton and a very shy Mister Heyerdahl.

Little does he know about the dangerous full potential and the true colours Mister Heyerdahl hides.

In the meanwhile, Castiel is not content, to put it bluntly. Is he allowed to dismiss a happy union for his Dean and Mister Heyerd--   _his_ Dean? Oh, he has fallen deeper into the pit than he anticipated. If Dean is happy, Castiel is quite determined to let him be. He will only dig a little into the persona of Mister Heyerdahl.

Oh dear, and dig he does, and he is most certainly not happy with the outcome. Not at all. Rather, he is frightened. Mister Heyerdahl has quite a history on him. Of course, none that would be known to the genteel circles this shark is visiting, but quite a few reports given by red-faced sailors and Dames of the street lacking teeth or bearing marks of lashes across their faces tell a frightful story.

Unfortunately, Mister Heyerdahl is determined to keep Dean believing he is the secret admirer. Apparently he has pieced the puzzle together and knows that Dean receives letters (what else could it be) of affection from an unknown sender, and has decided that he is going to make the most of it. The bitch would be a beautiful addendum to his collection, after all.

Still, Castiel is fearful of speaking up - Dean seems to dislike him a great deal. What if the disclosure of Castiel being the sender of those affectionate letters should guide him into the arms of Mister Heyerdahl?

Castiel throws his glass across the room when a servant reports that he has seen Mister Heyerdahl in a barouche, accompanied by Dean, unchaperoned, in the park near Yershick. Damn decorum to hell.

 

> _Mister Winchester,_
> 
> _With pain I have witnessed your affections waver to a man deemed, by several accounts, undeserving of your attentions. As much as it pains me, I have not yet had the heart to approach you in a way that would make my intentions clear. I feel even less deserving of any of your attentions, seeing as I dare not bring my own to your beautiful self, and agree beforehand it might see as a rude commentary on your life I have not had yet the pleasure to share as a friend with you. However, it has come to my attentions that a certain Mister H. has built up a report of unhappy servants and frightened companions and wish to keep you from painful memories, even if it should mean that I lose your trust. Please rest assured I would never keep you from your relations, instead would explain, as much as I could, why I would advise against keeping a very little few of them, and hope for your insight and trust in me. This, bear in mind, if I should ever receive the grade of affection from yourself as I feel for you._
> 
> _Yours, dedicated forever_
> 
> _Mr.--_

 

Well, crap. Dean has not been too happy with the prospect of Mister Heyerdahl, but he had seemed _nice_ enough. After receiving the last letter, he askes a few servants of the houses if they had heard some delicate stories in reference to the gentlemen in question.

The outcome is most decidedly _not_ a happy affair.

Quite the opposite. The happy outcome is that he knew whom to keep away from, the sad (or bad) outcome was that he is thrown back to now knowing whom he was writing to. “Alas. Better to know your enemy than to fall into their hands,” he muses. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos and especially comments are appreciated.


	3. Winter, 1812

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel does not see the green-eyed Omega's face fall briefly before schooling himself into a neutral expression and quickly excusing himself to fetch some air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time For Pain (c) Eri-Style.
> 
> let me bitch about two things, too:
> 
> it's 00.36 AM on November 9th why do I have to post it as November 8th, timezones suck lemons!
> 
> to my lovelies over the big pond: don't waiver your right to vote because you think a bigoted sexist racist madman _could not_ win. make sure he _doesn't_. you're part of our world, and your decision or lack thereof will trigger events dragging crap into the future far longer than only the next four years. I'm not even talking about "why shouldn't we use a-bombs".  
>  *done with politics and life on general*

A touch on his shoulder demands his attention to his left. A friend introduces yet another young Omega to Castiel in a flurry of flattery and motion and a rather loud voice.

Castiel keeps his politeness, the girl is half scared and half in love with love, eager to please. Castiel is used to this. After all, Omegas have the basic need to please, and are encouraged from the day they present to pursue perfection in obedience and devotion to their Alpha. To say that Castiel has not once thought of settling down with someone as close to his ideal partner - in body, soul and mind - would have been a frank lie.

However, spending almost thirty years alone (even in rut, he refuses to engage with an Omega as he values them too much to use as a mean of relief), his resolve to find love and happiness in matrimony crumbled slowly.

He is not the wealthiest Alpha (though wealthy enough), but if, in at least some part, his friends are honest with him, he is considered a “very good match indeed”. At one ball he did hear rather crude comments on his behind (“Like an apple, I urge to bite into it. Bet the erupting juices would be as happy as mine when I look at that piece of arse.”) and how much that one particular (name- and faceless) Omega would love to be “speared upon” - well, dear reader, you understand this poor author’s intentions and what she desires to keep from your decidedly blushing ears, do you not? We do hope so, because Castiel had blushed most furiously and, with the quickening of his steps, left the room. (Yes, he ran away blushing like the virgin Alpha he is.)

The young girl blabbers something about her latest accomplishment to which Castiel is listening half-heartedly - a complicated stitch she learnt from a French maid’s second Belgian cousin’s Polish grandfather-in-law’s adopted Latvian sister’s Prussian husband’s first daughter’s son who married, of all people, someone from Greece (or similar, his head is spinning and if he could care, he would be amazed at how the Omega can remember such a connection.)

“Would you like to see, Master Milton?” the eager girl - Castiel blushes with knowledge of shame of not remembering her name - “Oh, please Sir, let me show you. A strong Alpha like you might not enjoy the embroidery itself, but I assure you the craftsmanship is enticing. May I?” and with that, the Omega leans into Castiel's space, effectively pressing herself bodily along Castiel - and it is too late. By social norms Castiel would have had to get away sooner. He had not been looking, at least not at the Omega next to him but to the Omega across the room. He can feel the flowery scent of the Omega begin to mingle between the warmth of them. Has the Omega scent marked him on purpose? She _is_ rather young, perhaps naïve - yet, someone schooled in embroidery certainly has not lacked the schooling of the implications that follow scenting someone. In fact, Castiel Milton is certain...

No matter. Now he has to sit quietly, at least for a while, remain like so. He tries for what he hopes is a polite smile, replies, “Yes, I am sure you’ve done well,” takes the finely embroidered handkerchief between his hands, but makes sure to not touch the Omega anymore than he already did (skin on skin is quite intense!), and nods twice. “Indeed, quite the talent I say. Congratulations on such finery.”

Castiel does not notice Dean witnessing the scene, he does not see the green-eyed Omega's face fall briefly before schooling himself into a neutral expression and quickly excusing himself to fetch some air. Dean, however, does not notice Charlie watching the entire scene, her right eyebrow quirking up slightly, either. His hasty outburst of needing fresh air is accepted with a soft smile from the company, someone murmurs something about Omega hormones.

Her gaze then sweeps to Castiel Milton, who is obviously stricken with want to be left in peace. When the unfortunately engaged Alpha sees Dean leave the room, he barely catches himself from jumping away and following.

The red-haired Beta raises her delicate left eyebrow, pouts with a tut and lies down her cards. “Vingt-et-Un, my dears.” The collective groans make her giggle, “Oh _hush_ , put your worries to the French, my friends. This is their game, at least by name.”

And with that (and the tip of her tongue slipping out) she takes all of the money. It was a very good night. She will be able to slip some of the money to the maid whose mother turned sick and the orphanage is going find a large bag of much needed clothes and shoes - and sweets. The Bradbury family is hardly lacking for money, but if polite society allows her to take away a teeny bit of wealth stolen away from the poorer in the first place? Miss Bradbury is certain that one of her heroes, _Robin Hood,_ would understand her designs perfectly.

Her amusement over the greedy being robbed in sociable and legal fashion (those gambling more money than a lumberjack made a year for fun made her feel queasy, always) continues while she steps out onto the balcony to take her leave from her Omega friend.

Her friend, who is rooted to the spot looking through the windows into the sitting room, where the female young Omega has practically sat down onto Castiel Milton. Samuel Winchester can be seen, mouth agape, looking shocked, hands gripping his armrest as if he wishes to jump up.

Dean is shaking, but by the looks of it, not from the cold. He swipes a hand roughly across his face, sniffs, and turns around, now facing Charlie.

“Dean,” she tries, hand extended towards his cheek, but he only curtsies and turns away, towards the steps, toward the garden, toward the exit of their host's estate. She follows him. His mourning clothes seem even darker in the night. “Dean, honey,” she tries again, but he cuts her off with a gruff “Don’t. Beg you would excuse me, I- I need to be alone now,” and tears away.

“At least get your coat!” she yells at his quickly retreating figure. "Oh, fudge," Charlie grouses, gathers her skirts intent to follow as fast as her corset and slippers would allow. Her friend is in pain, and she will not allow it.

 

* * *

 

He has not felt this cold in years, and the _so_ -not existent tears running down his cheeks are not helping with the matter of  freezing inside and out. Omega bodies may run a little warmer than those of Alphas or Betas, but Dean can feel the freezing cold bite at his skin. It is painful, yes, but the memory of what had taken place in the sitting room with Mister Mi- he _will not_ think of the man, not anymore! It had been too much. He will calm down, then ask a servant to gather his coat, and let Sam handle the aftermath. Sam is good, he'd find a way to explain Dean's absence without betraying the truth. Some tale or the other would do, no one would really care. He'll apologise to Charlie on the following day, certainly she will let him visit again.

The estate is huge, but he can only run so far until he reaches the gates. He can not see much in the darkness, anyway, and slows down until he comes to a stop. Dean shuffles his feet, the coldness creeping slowly through the thin layers he wears. But there is another coldness, a rose of ice blooming poisonously in his stomach and where he supposes those who had been in love and lost their lover would say their heart has been ripped out.

Dean sneezes. "Great. You have hardly spoken more than a few words to the man and yet you behave like a slighted lover, get a grip," he chides himself. Looking up, the night sky is filled with stars. It is a beautiful view to be shared with a lover. The view is especially one to be shared with a _mate_. It is a magnificient view  to enter a New Year of Happiness. Unceremoniously, Dean wipes his nose.

Dean can usually make up his mind and not stray from it. But a single memory fills him with fondness and pain at the same time. The day he had found his mate.

Some evening Dean had slipped away (against all etiquette) from the merriment and made for the library. In order to keep humidity away from the books and ancient tome, a fire was lit almost every evening, and none too few candles were spared of their use. "At least," Dean thought while his fingers danced over the well-worn spines of books, some dog-eared, "Lady Willem does indeed read, and not only show off." A simply bound spine caught his eyes. Dean smiled. It was indeed his favourite book, a kinder version of Aesop's tales for children. Dean knew that if he ever was to be blessed with matrimony, he would be reading this book to their children. A quiet noise registered, but he attributed it to the wind outside as no sense of fear overcame him. Rather, a longing for the warmth that family and happiness of one's own brings. He loved Sammy, still loved his parents, but... Be it his biology, or his disposition, Dean feared he would never be able to settle down. For he was determined to not enter into marriage without at least caring for his partner. Yet not a single person has caught his interest.

'Dishonesty is unbecoming,' he quickly corrected himself. Not a single person has caught his interest and _reciprocated_. Mister Milton, with his eyes and that adorable pouty mouth that just begged to be taken and kissed and - damnation! Dean quickly, but with less care than usual, replaced the book to its rightful place and retraced his steps to the card room. Passing the door, the lingering scent of the man Dean had not spent nights, days and the last few seconds fantasising about (shut up) smacked into his nostrils. Dean will deny the sound that most definitely did not escape his throat until the end of time.

Dean Winchester had finally found his mate.

A mate that disliked him.

Now, in the same house he found his mate, he has lost him. That had been in April. Now it was _December_ , and Dean Winchester was at his wit's end. He saw no reason to keep up his hopes.

They were crushed anyway, when a wide-eyed and hopeful Evelyn whispered upon Mister Milton entering the room, “See, this is the man I’ve spoken of. My mother has encouraged me to pursue him. Not only is he kind, but he also does promise a very welcome connection.”  
Such things are not spoken too up-front if they have not been arranged, in some way, to ensure that no embarrassing situation would arise from an Omega displaying affection. Arrangements which are in general made by _both_ sides. A heavy feeling settled in Dean's gut. Certainly, Miss Evelyn Williams was a young and pleasing Omega, raised in the dutiful care of a mother decidedly keen to make the most (money) of a (financially) safe marriage for her only surviving child. If she has had the luck to not be sold off after presenting, she should at least have the luck to be married off to a caring husband.

Yet, contemplating his hope for a safe home for a fellow Omega, Dean cannot stop feeling helpless against the heaviness settling in this stomach, nor the lump forming in this throat.

Peeking along the estate, Dean sees the first torches emerge from the village. It will be midnight soon, and according to tradition the villagers will soon start banging pots and shooting a few rounds to purge the air and take leave of the old year and welcome the new one. He should return to the party. Not only is he likely to enter the year red-nosed from the cold, but with pneumonia. It would also be terribly rude to not go back. But then again, if he has pneumonia and dies, it would all be over.

A sob escapes unbidden, but he swallows down the tears, intent to speak to the snow silently falling.

“If there is one wish I am allowed for the new year, I wish for happiness of those I care about. I wish for the contentment of my brother, and if he is to be accepted by Miss Leahy, a loving family life for them blessed with health. I wish for Charlie to find her joy in whichever way she seems fitting. I wish for Mister Milton to be a happy husb-.” He speaks to the silent sky, his voice cracking at the last wish, “husband. I know he is of the gentlest disposition, and Miss Evelyn is a lovable child who certainly will grow up to be a beautiful adult.”

Somewhere behind him, a tree’s branch finally accepts its fate of bearing too much snow and cracks. The sound is soft, yet loud in the utterly silent garden.

“And if his joyous marriage is to be my suffering, I will bear it with good grace and in silence. But dear Gods, give me strength to _watch_ them, to witness my mate love another.” Another sob escapes his throat.

“Give me strength to remain truthful in my wish of their happy matrimony. Or let winter and wind take my heart now, let me be frozen so I shall not bear it, I can take no more, I beg you.” The only reply to his wishes is the cold wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos and especially comments are appreciated.


	4. New Year’s Eve, 1812 till... much later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her voice is a little shaky, but firm nonetheless. “I know I cannot win in a fair fight. But if you hurt him, I will destroy you. Now, go."

“Beg you would excuse me, I need- Stop thi-- ” Castiel almost shoves the Omega away (mindful, still, of her delicate frame but Dean - his _mate_ \- has left such a distressed scent behind Castiel feels like whining and this darned Omega is in his way - He will feel bad later, he will explain later, after he has taken care of his mate, after he-)

“Young Miss, get away from me _this instant!_ ” he growls, the last remnant of patience snapping into a million pieces of _Hurt. Anger. Distressed Mate_. as the Omega attempts to throw her arms around his neck in her attempt to keep him sitting.

Samuel Winchester, Gods bless his heart, lifts the shocked and now snarling Omega off of him, head thrown back to escape angrily curved fingers with nails intended to scratch. “Go, now!” he huffs and promptly sits the girl down.

“I - apologies, Miss, but - my mate, I cannot-” Castiel does not care if anyone can understand him, Sam does. 

The cold air is frigid, too many scents of the guests earlier walk mingling with the cold smell of fresh falling snow, the trees surrounding him make a mess of his nose and now he is whining, because he _knows_ that Dean left without a coat, and he cannot pin-point him with all these darned smells around!

“At least get your coat!” he hears a female voice cry - from his far right side, and off he is, this must be Miss Bradbury. He knows that any protectiveness he might feel towards Dean is worth less than a bout of hot air in summer, but at least he can offer his frock to the man. Whatever upset him, Castiel will offer to be his champion if it be for revenge, and die gladly iif need be.

By now he is full-on running, and feels the power of his Alpha pushing him faster still. Between the trees he can make out Miss Bradbury ruffling up her skirts, deducing she is to follow Dean. He notices the blush when he sees her pale ankles (even for a Beta, showing this much bare skin is inappropriate) and makes himself known by calling out to her.

“Miss Bradbury! Please, wait.” Castiel runs up to her - she obviously has not anticipated anyone following as she staggers, and just barely catches herself on the next tree. Castiel has already a steadying hand on the small of her back, hoping that his anger has not left a too foetid odour by now and that he won't scare her. No such luck, she raises a skinny arm in what would be a futile attempt against Alpha strength if he meant her harm. “I won’t-” he steps back, both hands raised, and she eyes him warily. She is breathing rapidly, her corseted and low cut décolleté heaving. He rummages through a pocket and procures a silk handkerchief, offering it, she must be cold by now.

“Miss Bradbury. I mean you no harm, I know I... transpire aggression, but please, Dea- Mister Winchester is distressed, and his pain is mine. I will explain everything if you desire to listen, but please, I beg you, tell me where he went. My nose is still… clogged with that godsdamned perfume the girl wears, and the trees are not helping but I assure you, nay I pledge on my honour and adoration for Mister Winchester, I mean him no harm.”

Her voice is a little shaky, but firm nonetheless. “I know I cannot win in a fair fight. But if you hurt him, I will destroy you. Now, go.”

Belated he notices her extended arm. “He went - ran - that way.” Not knowing - or, for now at least, caring - if he expressed his thanks, off he is.

The wind carries some cheery voices from what he supposes is the village, but apart from those, it is eerily silent.

There. A sob. Castiel is walking against the wind, unsure of how to make himself known without spooking the Omega.

The sight of Dean Winchester has, almost from the beginning, always been a bittersweet one. The man held himself proudly but without vanity, shoulders squared and head held up high but not obnoxious or presenting a bare throat as so many others were prone to do. He is always breathtaking, a constant ray of sunshine even in the darkest of nights and yet painful as the undiscussable distance fed by his distaste for Castiel makes it impossible to be approached.

But now, the sight of Dean now is heartbreaking. He is slouching, his shoulders shake minutely - the very image of pain.

“...wish for Charlie to find her joy in whichever way she seems fitting. I wish for Mister Milton to be a happy husb-husband. I know he is of the gentlest disposition, and Miss Evelyn is a lovable child who certainly will grow up to be a beautiful adult.”

Castiel grabs the nearest branch, ignorant of breaking it. He wants to rush forward, to-- but- Dear Gods, Dean thinks - Dean believes him to be impartial! To him! This beautiful creature -

“And if his joyous marriage is to be my suffering, I will bear it with good grace and in silence. But dear Gods, give me strength to _watch_ them, to witness my mate love another.” Another sob escapes Dean's throat. Castiel releases the branch, and steps forward.

“Give me strength to remain truthful in my wish of their happy matrimony. Or let winter and wind take my heart now, let me be frozen so I shall not bear it, I can take no more, I beg you.” Dean's voice is _breaking_ and-

Castiel knows he should break the silence. He is shocked into stupidity, it seems, because his mouth is agape, his body remains unmoving after the first step. He needs to move, now. He had been ready to fight, had been ready to champion for Dean, gladly die in revenging the insult handed to his mate but it had been _him_ all along. _He_ had hurt his mate. How is he to do penance for hurting the one being he was made to adore? No matter, he will take any punishment Dean seems fit.

“Mister Winchester,” he rasps. Dean whips around, eyes red-rimmed and wide. He snaps his jaw shut with a clack. Even in the weak light of the stars, Castiel can make out the vein betraying the frantic heart beating along Dean's jaw. His own heart is beating just as fast, blood pounding in his ears. He takes another step and slowly raises his hands. “De- Mister Winchester. I did not wish to eavesdrop, but-” The Omega is now shaking his head, eyes looking left and right for an escape route, his breathing is ragged.  
“But - what you said-”  
“No more, I beg you. Please pretend you heard nothing. I beg you, do not think anything of it.” Dean's voice is broken, barely above a whisper but filled with dread; shame and pain colouring his voice and scent.

Castiel takes another step forward, forcing himself to calm down. His mate feels shame and fear towards him, because of him, and if he fucks this up, he might lose him entirely.

“Dean,” he tries again, glad the Omega’s head snaps up at the too familiar form of address and prays he will not see it as insolence on Castiel's part. “How can I think nothing of it when someone so dear to me is in pain.” Another step. If he would extend his arm, he could touch. Should he risk it or is to too soon?

“Please, may I offer you my coat. I understand the… implication, but please trust me, it is not my intention to-”

Impossibly, Dean's face twists with even more pain.

Dear reader: yes, apparently, Castiel James Milton is an utter and incorrigible _idiot_ , because of course the implication of offering one owns coat is to scent-mark someone, and after hearing Dean's unintended confession, he _of course_ has to put his foot into his mouth.

“Ah, I mean. It is not my intention to _force_ it onto you. I would never force myself onto you. I have been the biggest fool for months, wishing to take your hand in mine, dance with you, yet all I managed were mediocre letters to you to which your kind soul has replied in such earnest way - Dean, had I not been in love with you by April, I would have had no choice but to fall in love with you in the library when you found that children's book...”

He does not add, _even if you had not been my mate_. Dean has every right, in Castiel's opinion, to refuse him. It will eat Castiel alive, but he is going respect whichever choice his mate makes. He will accept whichever punishment his mate seems fit for him, and be thankful even for this attention.

“You - I - what? You- your- letters?”

“Yes. You even replied.” The soft answer tugs at the ball of pain Dean feels coiling in his tummy. The Alpha’s eyes are downcast, head bowed in shame. “I - Dea- Mister Winchester, for all of my education and love for reading, I am stupefied near you, and thankful to bring out even the simplest sentences a child would laugh at.” Fumbling around, the dark-haired man procures a small pouch from the pocket over his heart. “Here. Your replies. If you wish to destroy them now that you know who sent you these attentions, you may. Any punishment you see fit for my insolence, for me hurting you, I will accept gladly.” Castiel's voice is very quiet, not in the dangerous way some Alphas hope to impress, but in a resigned way. It grows even more quiet, and Dean instinctively takes another step towards his Alpha. It is cold enough that even not touching he can feel the faint promise of warmth across the hand-span they stand apart.

“But if you can find in your heart to forgive an idiot in love for not knowing how to approach a god-like creature like yourself and allow me to at least continue to be in the same room as you, I shall die a happy man.”

Dean does not need to take the letters, he can see his looping cursive, recognises the batik printed paper he bought especially for this correspondence. And Mister Milton kept them close to his _heart_ . They must smell heavenly. Slowly, he brushes a finger against the other man's hand, pressed his hip. Dean is not afraid of this Alpha, never has been, but his heart is beating even faster than when the offending Beta attempted to attack him, beating faster still than when his parents pushed him through the door and told him to _run_ with Sammy crying in his arms, it is beating so fast he can feel his pulse in his throat and the moment his skin connects with the other man - he is so close to _home_. Castiel’s eyes are now visible and they are wide, the fight between fear and hope apparent. Dean curls his entire hand tentatively around his Alphas, and releases a breath he has noticed he has been holding. Still, he’s quite certain the dizzy feeling comes from the warmth exploding behind his sternum. His other hand twitches in need to connect, too.

“Do you.. You accept?” the whisper is almost inaudible, the replying nod almost imperceptible.

Blindly but yet carefully, Castiel tucks in the letter into his breast pocket. If Dean accepts - if he would give his other hand- he does!, their fingers are entwined, and he is - he is _home_. They are home.

“I.” Castiel cleares his throat. “You. Would you. I mean. Could I. Would it be acceptable for you, if I. Uh..”

“Yes.”

“But... your black clothes.”

Instead of a reply, Dean leans forward.

 

* * *

 

As it turns out, neither Dean or Castiel have experience, but enough enthusiasm for at least three love-struck couples once their shyness is overcome.

It’s nothing close to what Dean (or Cas) has read in those sold-under-the-table romance novels neither of them reads (shut up), but if the whimper that Castiel produces is anything to go by, it is quite a promising start into a happy relationship.

In fact, Castiel is a whiny bastard when he finally gets to press his nose against Dean's neck, and Dean absolutely will not ever, not once in his lifetime admit that he had to grapple at the Alpha because his knees turned to pudding at the needy sounds his mate made, no, he _slipped_ on the ice somewhere beneath the snow, thankyouverymuch.

Bangs and shots remind them that a New Year has started, but not only that, a new chapter of their life. Which means that it is cold. Thank the Gods for his Alphas horrible taste in overcoats. At least this one is big enough for the both of them to keep warm (thou shalt not use the word snuggle). The walk back to the party is not long, but it takes them a while. Before long they are musing how no one has come to look for them. Castiel gives Dean the short version of the situation Sam handled so well (Dean spent a good amount of time fumbling and draping himself all over the offending other scent), recapitulates his short talk with Miss Bradbury (“Classic Charlie, man,” Dean snorts) and concludes that with those two, it is likely the entire party has by now understood the situation. Dean gives Castiel a sidecast look, then chortles.

The Alpha blushes furiously, and quickly continues. “Dean, you must know that it way too cold for such an activity and no sane Alpha would submit his beloved to such cold temperatures or even the proper preparations made for- what?" Taking in Deans smirk, he growls. "Are you - you are making fun of me, are you not?”

A few raspberry kisses to Dean's neck and several manly squeaky noises later, let it never be said that Castiel does not know how to show his Omega his place (cuddled close to him) and who the real master in this relationship is going to be (Dean, of course).

Their walk is slow, but the worst misunderstandings are taken care of.

No, Dean is not mourning a lover, but his grandparents and a family friend who did not make it out of a fire that almost consumed his parents, brother and Dean himself. His parents are alive, but did not wish to travel from home.

Yes, Castiel is terrible at words and his people skills are what Dean would call adorably rusty.

No, Castiel had not known of the attention he was to receive this evening.

No, Castiel would never want a submissive Omega as his mate, if he is to choose.

Yes, Dean promises, he will try and accept that to Castiel he is perfect.

Yes, and both blush, this has been their first kiss, respectively.

A pang of guilt flashes across Dean’s mind when he thinks of Evelyn. She has made quite a spectacle of herself, but then the double standards she is oppressed in hardly would allow her any other behaviour. Voicing his thoughts, Dean is glad that Castiel nods solemnly. “I understand the matter perfectly. So must her mother, and all others privy to this matter.”

Upon their return, holding hands, Dean and Castiel explain what has transpired between them (ignoring the snickering of a certain red-head and floppy-haired person). Lady Williams, Evelyn's mother, congratulates them with an honest but cool air. Evelyn exhales, but is genuinely happy, she tells Dean. (“He would have been a good match, for sure, but being with one’s mate? _This_ is happiness that cannot be bought, bargained or arranged in any other way. I am glad for you, Dean, and truly wish you the best. My only sorrow is that I have brought you pain, but I hope you will find in your heart to forgive me one day, I had not known. In fact, I think no one has known!” Dean assures her that nothing needs to be forgiven, and he means it.)

 

* * *

 

1813 turns out to be a good year. Miss Leahy becomes Miss Leahy-Winchester. Evelyn emancipates herself with the help of Miss Bradbury.

Castiel learns that pregnant Omegas can strike the fear of the Gods into an honest Alpha if they are denied pie (no matter which time of the day) and are a force to be reckoned with if said Alpha is not naked and curled protectively around said Omega within seconds, scent-calming him and feeding said pie.

Castiel also learns that an Omega’s strength, or at least Dean's strength, increases with each cursed threat to remove certain Alpha body parts if he should become pregnant again. It takes a few days for him to regain control of his left hand, but the tiny hand grappling at his lapels and drooling over his chest during snuggle and sleep time make up for it. His aunt cries when she is presented with the young Miss Marianne Naomi Winchester-Milton. No one mentions the Alpha fainting as soon as the first contractions started.

In 1816, Dean almost makes do on his threat and Castiel walks very carefully for a couple of days. It had been an accident (Dean had cried far more for fear of having destroyed his favourite toy than Castiel from pain), but Castiel decides that if there is another happy occasion, he will wear very, very thick pants. Marianne, or Mary, is fiercely protective of her younger sister and brother (the two being the reasons for Castiel's almost broken hand and.. plaything) and continually gnaws at Castiel when she thinks he takes up too much Dean-time from her. She makes up for it by telling him she _wuwsemboth_ , so Castiel is happy.

1816 also brings sad tidings from Dean's remaining family in The Colony. Mrs. Winchester has succumbed to age a couple of weeks back. Soon another letter informs the brothers of their orphanage, as their father has followed his love in his sleep only a few days after her passing away.

Early in 1818, Castiel is yet again walking carefully and studiously ignores the sniggering of servants at his slightly high-pitched voice. He would not miss a birth even if it killed him (which is likely, Dean's grip gets better and grows more accurate with each). Doctor Breangh advises Castiel to consider wearing a gentleman's sport cup.

In 1823, the family counts their blessings (and Castiel stars for days) when their fifth, sixth and seventh child arrives. 

Their family grows when they become grandparents, and great-grandparents within a few decades.

On May 17th, 1878 Castiel and Dean Winchester-Milton say goodnight to their family. The laughter from their younger family members carrying through the gardens. It is early, but they feel that the time has come.

They have shared merriment and suffering, food and pleasure, happy times and love.

With their hands entwined, Dean's cold feet stuck between Castiel's thigh as has been done for more than six decades, they share their last breath kissing each other goodnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos and especially comments are appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> this is an original work, but I have read a load of fics and ABO-dyns, so if you feel that I (unintentionally) took something from your work or the work of an author, please let me know which fic and I'll link them.  
> A couple of my most adored writers on AO3, especially for ABO-dyn, are [Cerdic519](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519), [thatwriterlady](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thatwriterlady) and [msarahv](http://archiveofourown.org/users/msarahv). Also, if you have not yet had the pleasure of enyjoing their works, please check out [Chucks_Prophet](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Chucks_Prophet) and [AwkwardArin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AwkwardArin), as well as [DangerousNotBroken](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangerousnotbroken). Those are but a few of authors I adore that had kept me alive and breathing for the last few months.


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